Henry
by MASHCRASHER
Summary: If only Henry had lived... Hawkeye = Pottymouth :) Chapter Eleven
1. Chapter One

Henry  
  
~*Chapter One*~  
  
The plane engines roared at a moderately loud volume, filling the whole plane from first class to coach. But even this, accompanied by the vague chatter of other passengers, could not penetrate the deep thoughts of a certain former C.O., who just happened to be on his way home. One of the lucky few. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the odd odors emitted by the man next to him who was clutching a large salami. Wrinkling his nose, Henry sat back and allowed his mind to be overcome with thoughts of home, back in Bloomington, Illinois. His wife and three children, one of whom he knew only from pictures, appeared before him. It took merely moments for him to doze off, perfectly comfortable in his new suit.  
  
Deafening shots rang out, jolting Henry back to reality. He heard the panicked screams of other passengers and shouted as the plane tipped to one side and he was slammed painfully against the window. Glancing out to find the Sea of Japan looming close, Henry also noticed the black smoke that curled in great amounts from the wing, just behind his seat, where a gaping hole had been torn in the metal. They were losing altitude fast. The situation seemed hopeless.  
  
Rather than clutching the seat edges and arm rests, as everyone else did, Henry clasped his hands in prayer, something he had not done since Father Mulcahy's last sermon back at the 4077th. His lips moved silently, asking the Lord to bring some good of this terrible predicament. He opened his eyes to see the pale, frightened, glistening faces of those around him and closed his own eyes as the plane began to rotate, spinning in nauseating circles until impacting on the water's surface. The former Commanding Officer felt something wet slide down his cheek before being thrown forward into the seat before him, and, as his head hit, everything went dark. 


	2. Chapter Two

Henry  
  
~*Chapter Two*~  
  
"Radar, put a mask on!" Trapper yelled as Corporal O'Reilly fairly staggered into the Operating Room. His dirty glasses were slightly askew, and tears glistened behind them. In one hand, he clutched a telegram. It was crumpled and damp from being in his fist.  
  
"If that's my discharge, give it to me straight. I can take it!"  
  
Hawkeye called out from where he stood in a puddle of blood, fondly remembering that same time yesterday when their former C.O., Henry Blake, had gotten news of his being sent stateside. For once, Radar didn't feel squeamish at the sight of the surgeons' hands buried inside the bodies of soldiers. He ignored them both, grabbing the edge of a prep table to steady himself.  
  
"I have a message..."  
  
Each voice quieted, prepared for bad news. They rarely saw their boyish company clerk this sad before, his round, child-like face so pale.  
  
"Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake's plane was shot down over the sea of Japan. It spun in." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "There weren't no survivors." He choked out the last words, leaning against the table harder than ever before. A tray or clamp somewhere fell to the floor. Radar disappeared, probably to sit and be alone. Hawkeye's hands faltered and he suddenly felt nauseous; the room swam before his eyes.  
  
There was silence all throughout the Operating Room, save for a few dry sobs from some of the nursing staff. Hawkeye suddenly dropped his clamp and heaved, exiting the room and darting outside to throw up. After requesting that a nurse close his finished patient, Trapper yelled for Margaret to hold Pierce's until return, and followed. The blonde-haired nurse nodded silently, practically stumbling over to the table Hawkeye had occupied only moments before. She held the clamp in her trembling fingers, anxiously looking toward the door.  
  
Trapper peeked outside to find his fellow surgeon sitting in the dirt, his face hidden in his bloodstained hands. He kneeled next to his best friend and sighed, pulling Hawkeye's hands away to reveal a fresh wave of tears pouring from his charming antique blue eyes. "Why…? Why?" He mouthed silently, staring ahead at Trapper with a vacant look on his face. Trapper himself could'nt hold back the tears, and sat down beside him.  
  
After several moments of tears and heavy sighs, they rose together and re-entered O.R. to meet, once again, dead silence except for the metallic clinking noise of surgical instruments being disinfected, and the mumbles of doctors to the nurses assisting them. Margaret Houlihan was where Trapper had left her, gently squeezing the clamp that held together an enlisted man's insides, which had been torn open by an enemy artillery shell. Hawkeye relieved her of the clamp and nodded. The Major took this opportunity and retired to her tent where she lie on her cot, crying. How many times had she and Frank gone over Henry's head? They had called him names; in fact, they had called him everything short of a two-headed cow, including a failure as a commander. What they hadn't realized, however, was that no matter how many faults there were in his command, he still held their unit together. The tears doubled.  
  
__________  
  
The surgeons and nurses eventually finished their section, a rather short one, for it had lasted only a few hours. The casualties were minor, and for that, they were thankful. Nobody retreated to their quarters faster than Hawkeye, Trapper, and even Frank, who fairly dove into the 'Swamp' and onto their beds. Faster than one could say "I want it dry", Trapper was already up and making mixing martinis with practiced ease. In a short while, the two Captains and Major each had a martini glass full of the toxic liquids, downing them swiftly to try and relieve the pain of losing Henry. Momentarily they stopped to listen, hearing the crickets outside sounding as though they were mourning in their own way. It was not long before most of the camp was asleep, attempting to drown out their sorrows. 


	3. Chapter Three

~*Chapter Three*~  
  
Henry woke in darkness. Puffs of hot breath settled on the heavy material that had been placed over his body, and came back to warm his face. Bumps rattled his bruised frame, but most of them weren't noticed. His limbs felt frozen. However, as the feeling came back to his muscles, a particularly hard bump caused him to cry out softly. A bloody lump was raised on his forehead. A souveneir of the crash, so to speak.  
  
"Oh God... stop the truck! I think we got a livin' one back here!"  
  
A voice called, somewhere near him. Before Henry's brain could think it out, the heavy white sheet came off and he found himself staring into the face of a relatively young nurse. She placed two fingers to the side of his neck, directly over his jugular vein. The steady drumbeat pulse of blood was there; she hadn't felt it before, since the unseasonably cold water termperatures had practically frozen him. His skin had taken on a lifeless pallor and texture, both of which were beginning to return by now. He was unbelievably lucky. Looking slowly around, Henry saw the bodies of other passengers, all covered with the white sheets. Dead. Faintly, very faintly, he remembered the plane crash.  
  
As the woman continued to examine him, the colonel blinked slowly and looked up, through blurred vision, into her face. "Lorraine...?" Was all he said, before blackness claimed him once more. Henry Blake was alive! 


	4. Chapter Four

~*Chapter Four*~  
  
O.R. was not the same room it had been three days ago, before Radar came in and delivered his heartbreaking message. Occupying it was the subdued group that had been in surgery that awful day. A quiet buzzing filled the room; a blended murmur of the doctors' voices as they requested some surgical instrument, followed almost instantly by the nurses, repeating the tool's name in monotone. Other than that, the silence was unbearable.  
  
Hawkeye's skin was pale, moreso than usual, his usual bright blue eyes dull. His hands shook dangerously as he operated. The captain had not been his normal self since the announcement of the plane crash when they lost Henry. It had an obviously tremendous impact on the whole camp. Especially Radar, who came into the room moments later, tearstains still evident running down his cheeks. As soon as he entered and looked up, a quiet sniffle was buried under the monotone murmurings, and he walked quickly out again. Nurse Kellye stepped away from the table she was assisting at, pulled down her mask, and sighed heavily.  
  
"Come on now, everyone, I know that the last few days have been painful. I miss Henry just as much as the rest of you, and you know it, but we have to move on sometime." Her voice quavered slightly, but grew stronger to be heard in the small office outside the O.R. "Radar, please, something to liste-"  
  
Before she could finish, Radar had flipped on the radio, and soft music occupied the empty air space.  
  
'Happy days are here again...'  
  
A voice sang, the familiar song beginning to lift a few spirits. Suddenly, the woman's voice was cut off. It was replaced by another filled with great urgency, and caused everyone to look up.  
  
"Attention! I have breaking news concerning a recent plane crash over the Sea of Japan. One survivor has been found, a Lieutenant Colonel Henry Braymore Blake, former Commanding Officer of the Mobile Army Surgical Hospital unit number Four-Zero-Seven-Seven. It appears that the Colonel will be fine, though he sustained a slight concussion in the crash. More information will follow as soon as it is revealed. Now back to your regularly scheduled programming."  
  
There was a loud 'thump' in the other room as Radar fainted. 


	5. Chapter Five

~*Chapter Five*~  
  
Henry sat up in bed and rolled his eyes at the doctors around him who insisted on poking and prodding him for the millionth time, or so it seemed.  
  
"Come on guys... I'm fine!"  
  
He said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. He threw back the covers and stood up, oblivious to the fact that his hospital gown had just flown open in the back, and turned circles as though to prove his condition was perfect. Then he pointed to a spot on the whitewashed wall behind the specialists.  
  
"Look over there!"  
  
His shout aroused the attention of those few men and caused them to turn. While they stood there like complete morons and tried to figure out what the man had pointed at, and wondered whether or not he was delusional, Henry slipped out the door. Before they knew what had happened, he was gone, and before they could even begin to look for him, he was boarding a plane for Kimpo. Clutched in his hand was his fishing lure hat - the only thing that had survived the crash besides him.  
  
___  
  
That night, with patients resting comfortably in the PostOp ward, a celebration raged full force in the Mess tent. Beers were passed around, and Igor had managed to scrape up a decent meal, one of the best that anyone had eaten in quite awhile.  
  
"I just can't believe he's alive! I should've known that old Henry could cheat death... must've all been one big poker game to him."  
  
Hawkeye said with a laugh, a martini in one hand. He and Trapper had temporarily relocated the still to be used by anyone who dared, but so far, few had been brave enough to drink such toxins as what the two Captains managed to brew.  
  
"But sir, Colonel Blake didn't cheat at poker! Well, at least not as much as you do!"  
  
Radar said defensively, though he couldn't help but smirk slightly. "You vertically challenged twerp! Don't give away my poker secrets!" The captain said, pretending to look horrified, and Radar giggled. A big grin was pasted on his face. It had been there since he regained consciousness. Hawkeye grinned and rested one arm around his low shoulders, looking up as a faint knock sounded at the door. All eyes turned in that direction. Everybody in the whole camp had attended the celebration, and as far as anyone knew, nobody was missing.  
  
"Er, come in!"  
  
Hawkeye called, eyebrows knitted in uncertainty. Had he accidentally forgotten to invite somebody? One of the enlisted men, perhaps? That might hurt a few feelings. But lo and behold, the door opened to reveal Henry Blake, in the flesh (Almost literally, wearing nothing but a hospital gown and his hat). He was grinning like a little boy on Christmas morning.  
  
"Hi guys! Did you miss me?"  
  
"HENRY!"  
  
They all shouted in unision, flocks of people running toward their friend and former commander, tears of joy running down several faces. Radar made it there first, pulling Henry into a tight embrace, which the shy young man rarely did. However, Henry returned the hug with something even more unexpected. Since Radar seemed to eat everything in sight, yet rarely gained weight, it brought Henry no pain as he lifted the corporal who had been like a son to him. He hugged Radar close, as though it were Molly, Janie, or Andrew that he were holding.  
  
The whole population of M*A*S*H 4077 ended their chatter abruptly to watch the touching scene, and there wasn't a dry eye in the tent. It may have just been the smell of last week's leftovers, but it was most likely the sight of Henry and Radar. A single tear coursed its way down Hawkeye's cheek. After a moment, Henry let the boy down and said casually  
  
"So... how long does it take to requisition some new fatigues?"  
  
Most chuckled quietly through their tears, and resumed their previous conversations, many people stepping forward to give Henry a hug. Surprisingly, Margaret was among them. But there was one person who stood emotionless in the corner, cold and uncaring. "So who cares if the bastard lived? He shouldn't have. He deserved to die." Little did the tall man know, but Frank was standing a few feet away, lips pursed in agitation. For the umpteenth time, command of the 4077th had been snatched from his hands. The ferret-faced major turned and gave a surprised look, but didn't say anything. The man hadn't noticed him. 


	6. Chapter Six

~*Chapter Six*~  
  
Late that night, Radar was dozing fitfully on a creaky army-issue folding chair outside Henry's tent. Guarding him, one might say; now that he was back, the young Corporal wasn't about to lose his fatherlike Commanding Officer for a second time. He had tried to stay awake. Honestly, he had, but the evening's excitement had worn him out. The sound of the crickets' rejoicing chirps had gently lulled him into a peaceful sleep.  
  
*  
  
Gravel and dirt crunched together under the standard hole filled boots as Sergeant Rowland Demorest stalked across the dark compound, stopping occasionally to glance furitively about. It was nearly midnight; there was nobody around. In fact, the only ones awake would probably be the nurses on Post-Op duty. The others were collapsed on their cots. No doubt sleeping away the thought of what hangovers the morning would bring.  
  
Had one been around to see, they would have noticed that this strange, secretive man was none other than the unfamiliar sergeant at the party, who had made some rather unfavorable comments about Henry. In fact, his exact words had been 'So who cares if the bastard lived? He shouldn't have. He deserved to die.' Not very nice, is it? Well, this tall man made his way across the small basketball ring, right towards Henry's tent. What he hadn't counted on, though, was Radar, who was still sleeping lightly outside the canvas abomination.  
  
"Huh? Wha? Who's there?"  
  
The young corporal started awake, his glasses falling down into his lap. Without them, he couldn't see the tall man running swiftly away, back towards the camp's perimiter. What he had seen, though, was the flash of steel that emitted from his hand; a knife. 


	7. Chapter Seven

(Author's Note: Sorry that the chapters have been far apart, short, and boring lately. On ALL my stories. I just have this terrible writer's block... I know my storylines and everything, and even what I wanna use to fill in around them, but I just can't write. *Sigh* I promise, the next chapter will be MUCH more interesting.)  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
Gasping hoarsely as he ran, Sergeant Demorest made it to the camp's perimiter and bent to regain his breath. The knife was quickly pocketed. Then it was out and behind the nurses tent, around the Swamp, and he was back to his own Quarters. The other Enlisted slept like a sack of rocks; no one heard him enter.  
  
Meanwhile, Radar had grabbed the round spectacles from out of his lap. Fumblingly he put them on, accidentally poking himself in the eye in the process.  
  
"MP's! MP's! Guards!"  
  
Almost out of nowhere came a tall man in olive green fatigues, with a Military Police band around his left arm and "MP" painted in white on his helmet. "What seems to be the problem, Corporal?" He asked curtly, to which Radar answered in one long word. "SomeguytriedtogetintoColonelBlake'stentandIthinkhehadaknifegogetimgetimgquick!!!" The MP held up one hand and said "Whoa, slow it down sparky. Now what happened?" The small Company Clerk took a deep breath. "Some guy tried to get inta Colonel Blake's tent, and I think he had a knife! Please find him, he ran toward the edge of camp!"  
  
The Policeman put two fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle. Radar covered his ears and winced as two others came out of the darkness, carrying rifles. "Corporal O'Reilly says a man with a knife attempted to enter the Colonel's tent. Search every nook and cranny of this camp; I want him found." Said the first. He then turned back to Radar and asked "Did you see what he looked like?" "No sir. My glasses sorta fell off." Radar said with a sheepish look, before the three MP's left, splitting up. The Corporal sank back into his chair, rubbing one hand nervously over his face. 


	8. Chapter Eight

(A/N: Heh, this is an attempt at the use of HTML tags, y'know? Don't be surprised if it looks real screwed up for awhile. Anyway, here's chapter 8!)   
  
Chapter Eight  
  
"Stupid mail... Stupid Corporal... Stupid three-day pass!"  
  
Frank was, as usual, grousing about the duties to which he had been assigned by Colonel Blake. Flinging the mail aside venemously he kicked the heavy bag. It didn't budge. For a moment he hopped around, holding the toe of his army boot, when one particular letter caught his attention. It was addressed to 4431 Taiku Street, Seoul. The address was repeated in Korean.   
  
"What's this?"  
  
In the corner of the envelope was a bright red stamp that said "Top Secret, Rush Delivery". The ferret-faced man's upper lip curled as he looked around furitively. No one. He quickly grabbed a sharp letter opener off Radar's desk and slit the top of his find, shaking the letter out with a gleeful expression. He picked it up and unfolded it carefully, reading.  
  
bDear Mat-Sune,  
  
Our plan has failed. Colonel Blake is still alive, and it will take more than myself alone to finally get rid of him once and for all. I know I have called upon you for many other favours, including the previous one which came so close to taking care of the bastard. But I need your help.   
  
Have you got any more of that DDT chemical? If those idiotic scientists are correct, it could do some serious damage if sprayed in our precious Lieutenant Colonel's breakfast, no? Please contact me as soon as possible.  
  
Sgt. Dmst./b  
  
Frank raised a curious eyebrow as his devious hazle eyes scanned the "Sgt. Dmst." He would have to investigate that later. Stuffing the letter into its envelope and both into his breast pocket. Then he settled into Radar's chair, closing his eyes in a better attempt to digest the infirmation he had just accuired. What was going on right under Henry's nose, and for how long? Why? So many things to think about... eventually he fell asleep. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine  
  
"Sir? Sir. Sir... Major Burns, sir. SIR! WAKE UP!"  
  
Radar shouted, taking a step back and adjusting his glasses nervously as Frank started awake. Staring coldly at the Company Clerk, he suddenly remembered the letter in his pocket and forced a smile.  
  
"Say, Radar, ol' buddy ol' pal..."  
  
With a roll of his eyes, the corporal said the exact words that were on the tip of Frank's tongue before he could get them out. "Yessir, camp personnel list, coming right up." Jaw dropping slightly, Frank watched as he went to the file cabinet, opened one drawer, and began searching through the "P" file.   
  
"Aha. Here we go... under "P" for "People"."  
  
He handed the slightly-wrinkled paper to Frank, who tore it from his hand and began reading quickly. Grabbing a pencil from Radar's desk, he made a small dot next to the name of each Sergeant, and the one that caught his eye right away was Sergeant Demorest. Watching to make sure Radar was nowhere near, he pulled the letter from his breast pocket and looked at it carefully. Sgt. Dmst. Sergeant Demorest. It simply had to be. With a cunning smile he folded the letter and envelope up again, putting it back in his pocket, and got up from the chair. It gave a squeak as he darted out of the office and left the personnel list behind.  
  
~*~  
  
"Excuse me, sergeant Demorest?"  
  
Frank said officiously as he knocked on the door of the Enlisteds' tent. A disgruntled Klinger came to answer, wearing a bright pink cocktail dress, and two pink barrettes in his hair.  
  
"Oh. It's you."  
  
The corporal said, slightly annoyed, and turned around to yell into the tent. "Hey, Rowland, Major Burns is here to see you." The sergeant looked genuinely confused as he came outside, closing the door behind him. His brown eyes glinted slightly in the sunlight. "Yes Major Burns, sir?"  
  
"Drop the formalities Demorest. I know all about you and your plot to /get rid/ of the Colonel."  
  
Rowland's expression changed from confused to angry as Frank made his statement. "Oh, an I suppose you've come to rat on me, huh major?" He spit the word 'major' out venemously. Frank's eyes glittered dangerously as he said in a low tone  
  
"No, sergeant. I want in." 


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten  
  
"Oh Fraaaaank..."  
  
Hawkeye called in a sing-song voice as he opened up Margaret's door. Obviously, as usual, he paid no heed to the "Knock before entering" sign. Only those who were actually /afraid/ of her took notice.   
  
"Pierce, get out!" Margaret shouted when she saw his head poke into her tent. She wrapped the nightgown tighter around her frame and grabbed one of the wooden hairbrushes off her desk and flung it at his head. However, it bounced loudly off the door rather than her original target.  
  
"Margaret, I need to talk to Frank! Open up your wardrobe and get him out here! Me and him go on Post-Op duty in ten minutes!"  
  
The wooden door opened about two inches, and Hawkeye found himself staring into the major's soft blue eyes. For the most part they were filled with tears, but a glint of anger was obvious behind the glassy surface. She said in a quiet voice "I sent him away." Hawkeye raised an eyebrow, but not in his normal teasing manner, and asked gently "Is something wrong?"  
  
"Yeah, there's a lot that's wrong right now." Was her heavy reply. Suddenly she took a step out and grabbed his wrist, dragging him through and into her tent, where she promptly began crying. Worriedly Hawkeye took her gently into his arms, and she pulled him to her, leaning on his shoulder.  
  
"Hawkeye, I think Frank's trying to kill Colonel Blake."  
  
The black-haired man's strong arms wrapped subconsciously tighter around Margaret's slender frame, and a low growl, almost like that of a beast, ripped from his throat. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

(Note: Another HTML Tag experimentation. Also... naughty, naughty Hawkeye. Potty mouth :)) 

Chapter Eleven

"Kill Henry? How can that be?"

Hawkeye angrily interrogated Margaret, who sat on her cot, head in hands. Looking up, she reached into her pillowcase and pulled out a piece of paper that had been folded over several times to form a tiny square. She handed it to Hawkeye, who unfolded it, his warm blue eyes now like chips of ice. Suddenly his smooth surgeons' hands began to shake, and the paper, which had been Sergeant Demorest's letter, ripped down the center.

"Damn him! I'll kill Frank right here and now... where is that jackass?"

He pulled away from Margaret, who looked at him with frightened eyes. "I... I don't know. I would have thought he would go back to the Swamp..." "Then that's where I'll look." Turning, Hawkeye stormed across the tent and opened the door. But for a moment he looked back and saw Margaret standing there, picking bits of paper up off the floor. Going back to her, he lifted her chin and kissed her passionately.

"And that's just a snack."

With one of those trademark smiles he strode out onto the compound, still fuming inwardly.

* 

The door of the Swamp flew open, nearly coming off its hinges, as Hawkeye strode purposefully inside. But... there was no Frank. Hawkeye searched around a bit before going outside again, the door still swinging heavily from its last bout of violent treatment.

This time he headed for the Enlisted's tent, having a good idea of where Frank might be. However, before storming in and attempting to murder him, Hawkeye put his ear up against the door. He heard voices.

"But we could be executed for this!"

It was the distinctive, whiny voice of Major Frank Burns. A stronger, and possibly smarter (If you can hear intelligence in one's voice) voice followed.

"Yes, that's true... but only if we get caught. And I'll make sure we don't. Now listen!" The voice hissed. "Henry'll be going home soon. We all know it takes time for discharge orders to go through, but since _poor_, _unfortunate_ Henry was nearly _killed_, they'll rush it for him. We need to stop him going home. Why should he be happy, when he made me miserable? Hm?"

Frank squeaked fearfully, and there was a strangled sound to his voice. Perhaps Sergeant Demorest had his hand around Frank's throat. Hawkeye stood up and ran as fast as he could across the compound and into Post-Op, seeking out BJ. Instead, he found Margaret.

"Wha-?"

But that was all she could say before Hawkeye grabbed her arm and dragged her towards Radar's office. Inside they found BJ. Hawkeye latched onto him too, and dragged them out the door in the direction of Margaret's tent, where he explained everything.


End file.
